The Death Of A Mockingjay
by gemstone43
Summary: With Snow overthrown, Prim dead, District 12 practically rubble, Katniss is all alone. Afraid that she will never be able to be happy again.
1. Chapter 1

The vision of fire blazes my dreams once again, forcing me to scream out in utter pain. My eyes shoot open to the pitch black of my bedroom. I reach out for my sister but find Buttercup instead. I take a few deep breaths, stroking the mangy cat's fur multiple times. We hate each other but at this moment in time each other is all we have. Buttercup doesn't purr, but he provides me with a sympathetic meow. Just the company of Buttercup prevents me from going insane.

I look at the clock. 4am. I'm unable to go back to sleep, reality is I don't want to go back to sleep. The cold paneling of the wood on the floor helps to calm me down as I leave my bedroom. I wander the house like a stranger, each room looking brand new to me. I peer into the room where Mother used to sleep; it's practically empty. I sent her back the photos that she had of Father, myself and Prim…well, not all of them. I sit on the end of her bed, wishing that she were here to comfort me right now. But I can't blame Mother for not returning to District 12, there's nothing left here for her. Except for me. I just wish though that I could receive that hug that only a mother can give a daughter.

I release a heavy sigh, contemplating whether to phone her or not. Will she be awake? Probably. She may have not seen what I have seen, but that doesn't mean she hasn't been inflicted with the same trauma.

My hand reaches the phone, ready to dial the numbers. But I stop myself. She is my mother; she should be phoning me to make sure that I am okay. Not once has my mother ringed me to make sure that I am okay. Perhaps it is because I killed her. Prim. I chose to be the Mockingjay, putting my sister's life in danger. It should be me who is dead. Not her. Never Prim. The whole reason why I volunteered as tribute was to protect her, so she could live a long life…

I feel the tears escape my eyes, the choking sensation imprison my body. I've been home three days and I cannot stop crying. It's all I do. Cry. My eyes are raw, bloodshot. My body is emotionally weak. I wouldn't even be eating if it weren't for Greasy Sae coming round every morning and night. Even she isn't able to look at me, not properly. But who can blame her? I run my finger over my face, feeling the rigid bumps from the scar tissue that has formed. My body is damaged from the flames but it is nothing compared to the damage inflicted on my mind.

I barely speak out loud; whenever my mouth opens no sound is able to escape. The mockingjay has lost her voice. I look out the window, my eyes traveling to the house of Haymitch. The lights are on, though I know he won't be awake. He'll be passed out in a puddle of his own vomit, drowning his sorrows through the bitter intoxication's of alcohol. I wish I was able to do that but my body physically rejects the substance of alcohol. I begin scratching at my arm, feeling suffocated in the thin clothes that I am wearing. I want to scream, peel off my skin and run free from this world. I am trapped. Trapped in my own mind. I am punished everyday for living a life that I was forced into. I never wanted this, to be the mockingjay, they forced me too. So why is it that only I am paying the ultimate price? I have lost everything and anything that I have ever loved. I am alone. So alone. Just waiting for a sun that will never rise.

**A/N- I hope you liked this chapter. Make sure to 'follow' this story :) (the next chapter will be longer, promise) x**


	2. Chapter 2

When I next awake I hear noises arise from the kitchen. My heart beat begins to increase rapidly and I reach for the object that is nearest to me. I walk slowly down the stairs, trying to avoid creating any form of noise of all. As I near closer towards the kitchen I begin to hear a gentle huming escaping through the crack of the door.

I peer through the door carefully, expecting to catch a glimpse of Snow. I know its a ridicilous expectation for Snow is dead, however, part of me still believes that Snow is alive, that he shall one day and finish the job. The job being ending my life. And when that day comes I shall embrace it with open arms.

'Katniss?' I hear a cheerful voice say. I blink rapidly to view Greasy Sae smiling at me, 'You are looking well today.' I open my mouth to reply, but no words are able to escape. I simply drop my 'weapon', one of my old hunting boots, and run away to my bedroom. I shut the door harshly, resting my body against it for a brief second. I place my ear next to the door, pressing it against it in an attempt to hear whether Greasy Sae has followed me. She hasn't.

As I lay down on my bed I notice the scratches on my arms which must have been created from last nights outburst of anxiety. Unable to keep myself isolated with my thoughts I decide to walk over to Haymitch's house. Since returning from the Capitol I have only seen Haymitch twice. First being the journey as we returned back to District 12. Second being a couple days after being home and Greasy Sae forced Haymitch to come visit. I cannot remember much of that visit and neither can Haymitch I imagine. He was so heathily intoxicated that his words were simply slurred and Greasy Sae ended up forcing Haymitch to leave my house for worry of causing me more distress.

As I walk out of the house the impact of fresh air feels irregular on my skin. I run my fingers through the front of my hair, imbracing the feel of nature. It has been so long that I have actually been able to feel natural breeze that the sensation almost feels unnatural to me. As I knock on Haymitch's door I realise how weak I really am. To rasp on Haymitch's door three times has truly taken my energy away. After five minutes I begin to think that perhaps Haymitch does not want to see me and I begin to walk away.

'Leaving already, Sweetheart?' I hear the familiar arrogant voice call. I turn around to be greeted by the hollow eyes of Haymitch. His body has lost vast weight that he is almost unreconisable. 'We've been here one month and this is the first time you have visited me.'

'Don't you remember visiting me a couple of days after arriving here, Haymitch?'

'Sweetheart, I barely remember last week.' I give a small smile towards Haymitch, though I begin to feel uncomfortable amongst his presence, as if he is judging me. He invites me inside, although I already regret my decision to leave the safety of my own bedroom. As if trying to appear to be more welcoming, Haymitch offers me a chair within his kitchen. Although we live in houses with the exact same layout, the two could not look so differently. Haymitch's kitchen is barely identifiable as a kitchen in itself, with empty bottles and patches of vomit scattered over the floor. I heave slightly at the first impact of the smell though I try to cover my reaction through coughing.

'Want a drink?'

'No thank you,' I reply.

'Thank you? You must be ill.'

'Why?'

'Using manners with me.'

'I was just being polite.'

'You don't know the meaning of the word.'

Five minutes with Haymitch and my anxiety has already faded away, replaced by anger and frustration. I love Haymitch, almost like a father, though at the same time I hate him. The two of us are too similar and it only creates destruction.

'The cat do that?' I hear Haymitch ask.

'What?'

'That?' Haymitch replies, indicating towards my arm.

'Oh...yeah,' I answer. Haymitch's eyes analyse every inch of me, before he shakes his head abruptly.

'The dreams only get worse, Katniss. It doesn't make you weak, it makes you human.' I look away from Haymitch, staring at the floor. I try not to pay attention to his words, though part of me feels desperate to hear more. 'I had the same symptoms when I left the arena, I couldn't sleep without dreaming about those games. Without seeing the faces of the dead.'

'It's my fault that they're all dead,' I mutter.

'Katniss, look at me,' Haymitch states whilst rising from his seat and kneeling in front of me, 'It is not your fault. I should have protected you more instead of forcing you to perform more and more.'

'And I should have protected Prim!' I scream. I feel the tears escape my eyes and I began hyperventilating. I cover my face shamefully with my hands, trying to prevent Haymitch from seeing me cry.

'You did all that you could. How were we to know, Katniss? It was not your fault. Prim would have not sat at District 13 whilst where was a war going on. You two both held the same fighting spirit and courage.' I start crying even more, feeling my eyes burn from the tears. I shut my eyes tightly as a way to prevent the tears from flowing even more. However, I find that I am unable to open them as I grow increasingly fatigue.

When I next open my eyes I am returned home to my bed. I look to the right of me to find Greasy Sae sitting next to me, knitting some form of garment.

'Oh good you are awake,' Greasy Sae smiles, 'you must be confused.'

'Slightly, my head hurts,' I reply, rubbing my head.

'You passed out at Haymitch's, I think it was from the lack of food you have been eating lately.'

'What time is it?'

'7:00pm. That reminds me, your guest should be arriving soon.'

'My guest?' I reply even more confused. Greasy Sae nods her head before returning to her knitting. I hear a knock come from downstairs. I attempt to get myself out of bed but Greasy Sae makes me remain where I am.

'You are too weak, I'll go answer it,' Greasy Sae replies before leaving the room. As I lie in the bed, I run my finger over the raised bump on my head. I try to trace back to what had happened before I passed out at Haymitch's but I am unable too. All I can remember is crying hysterically. I pick up the picture frame next to me, starring at the picture of Prim. I feel a tear slide down my cheek and impact against the glass frame. I turn the picture away from me as my emotions slowly suffocate me from within.

'Katniss?' I hear a familiar voice say. I look up to be greeted by the eyes of the last person I expected. Although his face is scarred, it still holds that sense of genuine sincerity that I have so longed for.

'Peeta?' I gasp.


End file.
